The manager laughed. “I ain’t seen any signs of his lacking grit. He was up against some proposition to-day, too, and he pulled out. I guess I ain’t making any mistake trying him out against the Blue Stockings. He’s as good as any of Jack Kennedy’s string of cripples. He ain’t made of the same stuff as that quitter, Locke, I fired in Ashland.” A faint touch of color tinged Stillman’s face. “You’re right there, Brennan,” he said briefly. “There’s no comparison between them. Well we’ll see how he pans out on Saturday.” As he turned away, a frown wrinkled his smooth forehead. He was thinking of Lefty, and wishing fervently that he might be there. What a chance it would have been! There wasn’t a question that, if he had remained with the Hornets, Locke might have had the opportunity which had been given to Elgin. Stillman knew baseball, and there was no shadowy doubt in his mind as to which of the two was the better man. He felt that Brennan could not have failed to see it, too, if he had not been tricked into turning the southpaw away. However, that was all over and done with. Not only had Locke been fired, but at this moment Stillman had not the least idea where his friend was. He had heard nothing from him since the day they parted at the Ashland station. The pitcher had promised to write when he made good, but he had not written. “Maybe he’s working for some fourth-rate bush league,” Stillman thought regretfully. “I can’t say I blame him for not wanting us to know. Maybe he hasn’t got any job yet. I’d give a farm to get that crook Elgin where I want him, and show Brennan what a mistake he’s made.” Unfortunately the ex-sergeant at Ashland had, so far, failed signally in finding a single clew to the mystery, and Stillman was beginning to grow discouraged. It looked as if Bert Elgin had won out, in spite of the fact that truth and honor and decency were all opposed to him. CHAPTER XXXVIII THE TWO MANAGERS A door opened, and a tall, thin man, with a slight stoop, stood on the threshold, looking down upon the manager of the Hornets. His dark eyes glimmered and a smile stretched his wide mouth, which transformed the almost homely face into one that was positively good-looking. At the sight of him, Jim Brennan sprang up from his desk so hurriedly that he came near upsetting the revolving chair, and leaped toward the newcomer with hand outstretched. “Well, well!” he exclaimed. “Put it there, Ken, old boy! It sure does a man good to see your smiling face again. How’s things?” “Fine!” returned Kennedy, of the Blue Stockings, gripping the other’s hand. “Couldn’t be better, in fact. You’re looking blooming yourself, Jim. Taken on a few pounds over the winter, haven’t you?” “A few, maybe. I can stand it, though. Once fat, a little more never cuts any ice. Sit down and rest your face and hands. I see you’ve had a clean sweep so far.”